Meenakshi Palaniappan, Singapore
Mushrooms in the Rain
If I stand here by the curb
all day long in the rain,
will I see mushrooms sprout,
and spread open their caps?
I've been watching my kids
near ten years now.
I haven't been able to
catch them at it,
yet here they are,
one, almost at my height.
Maybe this magic
happens only at night.
Invisible threads
tug at fingers and toes.
Perhaps we are not meant
to see this change unfold
lest we grab hold,
unwilling
to let their baby fat vanish,
along with the wonder
their eyes express,
at dew drops on leaves.
We just go about our days
reminding them
to brush their teeth,
pack their bags, and
drink their milk,
until, suddenly
they are reaching down
to comfort us.
While we can't hold on,
we can hold fast
each fleeting moment
as it passes
so at least we notice,
there are mushrooms here
where there were none before.
The Grass Grows Wild
Written as the end of the circuit breaker loomed
The grass grows wild
like my son's hair
during the lockdown,
curling and tumbling
wantonly.
Bees, butterflies,
grasshoppers,
they flit among
the dancing lallang,
and rest on
dandelions.
I dread the end,
when this lush
paradise will be
manicured,
the wild grass tamed
so no wildflowers can bud
in this perfectly greened city.
Meenakshi Palaniappan is a Literature educator and a quiet observer of the world around her. She writes to think and enjoys playing with words to paint pictures of life as she sees it. She is especially drawn to nature. Her work has been featured in online journals, including the Shot Glass Journal.